


Yet less for loss of your dear presence there

by middlemarch



Category: Far from the Madding Crowd (2015)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Marriage, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: "You did not come,/ And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb,—"





	Yet less for loss of your dear presence there

Gabriel woke up to the sound of Bathsheba crying. The room was dim, the fire banked on the hearth and the scythe of the moon only gave a little weak light; it was either very late or very early. After a moment, he could tell she had been weeping for some time, her breath hitching, a hopeless, heartbroken sound. He laid his hand on her shoulder and felt her shudder through the fine muslin.

“Dear heart, what is it?” he asked softly. Fruitlessly, for she still wept. He moved closer and saw her eyes were closed though her cheeks were stained with tears.

“Bathsheba, wake up,” he said, raising his voice, using the calm, commanding tone that settled skittish colts and frantic ewes. During the daylight, she would not like to be addressed so and he never would try, but now it was what was called for, unless he was meant to shake her awake. He saw her eyes open slowly, as if against a bright sunlight, something that she could not bear.

“What’s wrong, love? Is something hurting you?” he asked. She felt warm but not fevered. Was it an illness or a bad dream? Or something else, some worry she could not admit to him during the day or even when the candles were lit for bed.

“I thought you left. You went away, you’ll never come back,” she said. The words came out haltingly, as if each one caused its own separate pain.

“I’m right here.” He drew her towards him, pulling her into his arms. She rested her face on his bare chest and he stroked back the hair that had come free from her night-plait.

“You left—and Frank was here.”

“I’d never have done that. I’d never leave you alone like that,” Gabriel said. He’d wanted to, so many nights, but he couldn’t have borne it, to be in the world and know she had no one to turn to, no one who would help her whatever the cost. He missed her lantern going round the farm like a good fairy and he’d loathed Troy for how he’d altered her, but at least there was the light in her window and the prospect of seeing her face under the brim of her straw hat.

“You left and I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t ask you to come back to me and Frank was laughing, laughing,” she said.

“Just a nightmare, love. I’m here and we’re together, just we two,” he said.

“What if this is the dream and that’s the truth? What if I wake up from this and you’re gone?” Bathsheba asked. Even fearful, her voice tremulous, she was still determined to follow her own thoughts, unwilling to be easily soothed, so entirely herself. But they were both tired and would be even more so if they could not settle down and go back to sleep.

“You are my wife, in my bed, and that’s what’s real,” Gabriel said, lifting her hand up from his chest. “You wear my ring on your finger, take it off and see.”

“What?”

“Look inside your ring,” Gabriel said. Bathsheba shifted in his embrace and tugged the gold band from her finger, peering at it in the weak light. “It’s engraved. It says _Ask me_, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, letting him help her put the ring back on. “I’m such a fool, a foolish woman troubling you with a dream.”

“The only foolishness would be not troubling me. But it’s time to go to sleep. It’s time for you to dream about something else. The barley harvest or your rose garden.”

“Now who’s being silly? I shan’t dream of anything but you, Gabriel,” Bathsheba said, looking up at him with her great dark eyes. 

“If you like, love. I’ll be here when you wake,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> A little hurt/comfort vignette for Gabriel and Bathsheba, title from Hardy's "A Broken Appointment," because there is a lot these two are going to have to work through in their marriage. A whole heckuva lot.


End file.
